Triple Trouble
by lildreamer7
Summary: UPDATED! A CSI from Las Vegas has been kidnapped. But her abductor has left behind clues. Clues that have led them to Miami and to his next victim. Clues that will unravel a forgotten past shared by 3 wellknown CSIs. Crossover CSI and CSI:NY
1. What's Gone on Before

**Title:** Triple Trouble

**Author:** lildreamer

**Rating:** T for violence and disturbing images

**Pairings:** Various pairings—HC, Grillows, Snickers, SMacked, and others…

**Spoilers:** There will be several references to certain episodes from all three CSIs. I will let you know at the beginning of each chapter what they are.

**Summary:** One killer so diabolical, so dangerous, so deadly will attract the attention of CSIs across the nation when he pulls off the greatest crime the CSIs have ever witnessed. Three very different teams of CSIs will be drawn together only to find themselves thrown into the killer's deadly game where the only way to win...is to lose.

It's a race against time and deadly betrayal. They are all about to be tested to the very limit. And they are prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice. Because ultimately, one of them will lose this fight...

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the CSIs or any of its characters. This story is fictional; any similarities to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

**A/N:** Hey, yall! It's great to be back. Sorry, it took me a while to update. The holidays took a lot out of me…Anyway, here's the second installment in my "Triple" series. This first section is to help refresh those who've read _Triple Threat_. For those of you that haven't, this will help you catch up. Enjoy:)

* * *

**_Five days ago in Las Vegas…_**

"Hey, guys!" Everyone turned to the young CSI. "I think that girl's in trouble."

Greg pointed across the street and they turned around to see what he was talking about.

"Someone, help me, please!" she screamed, running into the street toward them. "Please, help me! He's after me!"

"Miss, what's going on?" Grissom called, stepping forward.

Before she could answer and before any of them could react, tires screeched not too far away and a dark SUV came speeding out of nowhere. They all watched in horror as the vehicle barreled right into the young woman, ran her over, and sped away into the night.

They raced over to the unconscious woman, careful not to disturb the scene. Grissom immediately put his fingers to her neck then shook his head sadly.

"She's dead."

* * *

Dave was crouched down beside the body. He was jotting down a few notes when Grissom walked up to him.

"Find anything?" the CSI supervisor asked.

The ME reached over to the girl's left pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. "I found this in her pocket," he explained, handing it over to Grissom.

He unfolded it gingerly, not wanting to rub off any trace or fingerprints, and a small, shiny object slipped out from inside. Dave caught it before it hit the ground and handed it to him.

"It's a key," Grissom said, turning it around in his fingers several times, studying it. Then his eyes went back down to the paper. His eyebrow went up again. In somewhat neat, loopy handwriting it read:

_She means nothing.

* * *

_

Grissom put his phone away and looked back down at his desk where he'd laid the report he'd been reading. His gaze suddenly shifted to a piece of paper lying underneath the folder, its corners peeking out from behind it. How could he have not noticed it before?

He picked it up carefully and examined it. It was plain, white paper, no fancy labels, no obvious identifiers, nothing to call attention—

He froze momentarily as his eyes fell on what was written on it:

_UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE YOU TO INVESTIGATE THIS.

* * *

_

His cell phone chirped loudly from the cup holder. He stared at the screen, recognizing the number. He picked it up, unfolded it, and lifted it to his ear.

"Hello? Catherine?"

There was no answer from the other line. All he could hear was static, then—

"Gil…"

"Catherine!"

The phone went dead.

* * *

"Lindsey?"

A fist thumped into the door. "Uncle Gil! Help me!" Lindsey's muffled voice cried.

Grissom dashed toward the closet, threw the chair aside, and opened the door. The moment the girl saw him she fell into his arms, sobbing.

"Lindsey, are you okay?" he asked, taking her in both arms. "What happened?"

"She—she's gone!" she sobbed, pointing at something on the floor. "He took her! He took my mom!"

* * *

Warrick was crouched by the small blood pool and was in the process of collecting the bullet. He looked up at his supervisor, clearly upset and confused.

"What did you find?"

"This bullet did _not_ come from this gun." Grissom quirked an eyebrow as the younger CSI showed him both items. "The gun is a .38, but the bullet is a 9mm. I'm no ballistics expert, but I know a .38 can't fire a 9mm. What do you make of it?"

The CSI supervisor stared at the items, a hint of recognition flashing in his eyes. "It's a message…"

* * *

"Gris!" It was Nick, hollering from the hallway. "Grissom!"

"Didn't you get Archie's page?" Warrick asked.

"What?" Grissom glanced at his cell phone and only now realized that he had a new message. He had been so preoccupied, he hadn't noticed his phone go off.

"He says he's got something we need to see," Greg explained, insistent and excited. "It's about Catherine!"

* * *

"Hello, Grissom." The man on the screen had stopped moving and looked straight at them through what was probably some kind of webcam. "How are you doing, my old friend?"

"Who is this?"

"You know," the man was speaking calmly again. "I thought about killing you, but I've decided this will be much better." He paused and made a soft sound that sounded like a moan. "I think I have something of yours."

The man fidgeted then crossed out of sight and off camera, leaving them a direct view of an old bed. Everyone's eyes widened. Catherine was strapped to the bedposts by her wrists and ankles. Still in the clothes she'd been wearing the previous night. She was shaking with sobs.

The man grinned wickedly, his dark figure filling the screen once again. "You have three days."

"Three days to do _what_?" Warrick asked, the anger apparent in his voice.

"Three days to give me what I want…or someone else will disappear!"

* * *

"Mr. Grissom, what the heck is going on?" Sam demanded, marching into the room. "What are you trying to pull?"

"Excuse me?" Grissom stared at him, taken back.

"I wanna know who he is, _now_!" Sam growled, angrily. "Who kidnapped my baby girl?"

* * *

Nick stood up to follow Sara out of the room when the computer began beeping. They both whirled around. The gun had gotten a hit on IBIS!

Nick jumped back into his seat and studied the screen, Sara standing behind him looking over his shoulder.

"It says here that the gun is a match to one that was used in a robbery a few months ago down in…_Miami_."

* * *

Grissom glanced at his watch. "I'm going to be taking a little trip."

"You are?" Sara's eyebrows shot up. "When?"

"I'll be catching a flight to Miami tomorrow morning."

* * *

Before Grissom knew it, they'd landed at Miami International Airport. More determined than ever to find his best friend, he quickly found and retrieved what little belongings he'd brought with him then began making his way out of the terminal.

Near the exit a man in a sharp suit and dark pants, fiddling with a pair of sunglasses in his hands, was there to greet him.

"Dr. Grissom…" The tall redhead looked up at him, a twinkle in his eye.

"Welcome, to Miami."

* * *

_**And now, Part 2…**_


	2. Monday

The sun shone brightly over Florida's most popular spring break destination. Calleigh Duquesne glanced up into the sky, her hand shielding her eyes against the bright sun, as she took a deep breath of cool salty air. She pulled on her sunglasses as she, Eric Delko, and Ryan Wolfe made their way from the Hummer, past several squad cars, toward their new crime scene. Sensing their presence, Det. Frank Tripp turned from questioning a couple of witnesses and smiled.

"Calleigh."

"Hi, Frank." Calleigh glanced over at the sandy beach behind him. "What do you have for us?"

"Follow me." The detective led the way. "Where's Horatio?"

"At the airport," Eric replied, taking a brief look around. "He's meeting some guy from Vegas. Something about a kidnapping."

"Oh."

Walking across the beach toward the pier, their senses were filled with the smell of saltwater and the increasing sound of breaking waves.

"Meet José Cortez, aka _Machete_," Frank said, gesturing toward one of the bodies lying on some rocks beneath the wooden structure. "—Mala Noche."

Eric's head jerked around. That caught his attention.

"What about the other guy?" Ryan asked, glancing at the other body lying inches from the first, partially covered in sand.

"No idea. Didn't find any ID on him."

The ME, Dr. Alexx Woods was already there studying the bodies. Noticing some blood in the sand, she moved her fingers to the back of the man's head and felt the stickiness of blood beneath his hair. "Looks like our John Doe may have fractured his skull."

"Cause of death?" Calleigh asked.

"Afraid not, baby. COD was a single gunshot wound to the chest," Alexx said, her gloved fingers passing over the circular wound as she continued examining the body. "Same for Mr. Cortez over there."

"Think they got into it and shot each other?" Ryan asked, noting the erratic pattern of footprints in the wet sand.

"Could be. But I'll know more at the post."

"Who found the bodies?" Calleigh asked, turning to the detective.

"A jogger," Frank answered, thumbing through his notepad. "Passed by the pier and saw something on the rocks. Called it in once he realized it was a couple of DBs…"

As the two continued to talk, Eric noticed something glinting in the sunlight—tiny pieces of glass from the shattered crystal of the watch Cortez was wearing on his left wrist. Pulling gloves on his hands, he lifted the man's hand and saw that the watch had stopped at half-past six.

"Must have broken on the rocks when he fell," Alexx commented, watching the CSI with curiosity.

"Time of death?"

* * *

"Lt. Caine, it's nice to finally meet you," the Vegas CSI said, shaking the lieutenant's hand.

Horatio smiled. "Likewise."

"Catherine spoke very highly of you."

The smile melted off the lieutenant's face, her name reminding him of what had brought about this meeting. "How long has she been missing?"

Grissom frowned. "Almost three days."

"Don't worry, my friend." Horatio pulled on his sunglasses as they headed out to the Hummer. "My team and I will do everything we can to help find your CSI."

"Thank you, lieutenant."

"Call me Horatio."

* * *

Calleigh aimed the beam of her flashlight around the rocks and across the sand, searching for clues that might have been left behind by an assailant. It took her only a few minutes to realize that there was not much to find on that stretch of shore besides footprints—and lots of them. Any other evidence had probably been washed away with the tide.

"You know, I didn't plan on spending the next few years here casting footprints," Ryan sighed, emptying another bag of plaster into the mold.

Eric chuckled. "Hey, just be happy we're not doing the entire beach."

"Yeah, but there's gotta be like a hundred prints here."

"Well then, get back to it. You've got a lot of work to do."

Ryan narrowed his eyes at his friend. "I hate you."

"Can we move the bodies?" Alexx asked, turning to the blonde CSI.

Calleigh looked up from jotting down some notes and nodded. "Yeah. I think we've gotten everything we can from them." As the ME's assistants began to lift the John Doe onto a stretcher, something caught the CSI's attention. "Alexx, wait."

The ME and her assistants froze to the spot, the body now lying on its side. "What is it, baby?"

Calleigh crouched down next to her. "There's something on the back of his shoulder." She reached over and gently pulled down the collar of the man's shirt, revealing a tattoo.

"_Tanglewood_?" Alexx said, reading the single word tattooed on the man's back.

"Hey, Frank, you ever heard of a gang called Tanglewood?"

The detective shook his head. "Nope. Whoever they are, they're probably not from around here."

Ryan arched an eyebrow. "You think this was some kind of turf war?"

"It certainly looks that way," Calleigh said thoughtfully. "But why don't we let the evidence do the talking."

"Well, we do know one thing's for sure," Eric said, looking up from his work. "This was no accident."

Both Calleigh and Ryan nodded in agreement.

"This is what happens when worlds collide."

* * *

**Hmm…interesting comment. Want more? **


	3. Chapter 2

**Hey, yall! Here's another chapter! Thanx 4 all the reviews! They are my muses!**

**Spoilers: Rampage, Rio

* * *

**

Calleigh, Eric, and Ryan returned to the lab a few hours later and met up with Natalia Boa Vista, the newest member of the team. Because of another case, she hadn't been able to go with them to the crime scene. But that case was now closed, and she was more than happy to join in their investigation.

The four were walking through the main lobby, comparing notes, when they noticed their boss standing near the receptionist's desk talking with someone they had never seen before. Horatio had seen them too and smiled as they came over.

"Hey, H. What's up?" Eric greeted, glancing suspiciously at the stranger.

"I'd like you all to meet, Dr. Gil Grissom," the lieutenant explained, introducing his guest. "He's from the Las Vegas Crime lab."

Learning that the visitor was a fellow CSI, everyone seemed to visibly relax. Horatio proudly introduced his team to his new friend then all conversation turned back to serious business.

"So, what brings you to Miami?" Eric asked, turning to their guest.

"One of my CSIs has been kidnapped," Grissom answered. "She's been missing for over three days. And we have reason to believe that her kidnapper may have brought her out here."

"How do you figure?" Ryan asked.

"Her kidnapper left us a video message which our A/V lab traced back here. Not to mention, he left this behind at Catherine's house."

Grissom reached into his breast pocket to pull out the other piece of evidence that had led him to Miami. But before he could show it to them, a commotion by the front entrance caught their attention. All their heads turned simultaneously to see what all the noise was about.

"What's going on here?" Horatio demanded, approaching the two officers who had just entered the building.

A man in his thirties stood between them, struggling against the handcuffs and the hold the officers had on him. The man's dark hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, and his shoes speckled with mud.

"I was on my in when I caught this guy snooping around outside," Frank explained, coming up behind the group. "Stinks of alcohol. And apparently, when he's drunk, he can't talk. Wouldn't give us a name."

The man gave the detective a dirty look but did not say a word.

"I don't understand. Why did you arrest him?" Horatio asked, confused.

Frank gave the lieutenant a look and came to stand in front of their captive. The man began to struggle again knowing what the detective was about to do. The officers held on tightly as Frank lifted up the man's t-shirt.

Everyone's eyes widened, recognizing the pitchfork tattoo. The guy was a Mala Noche.

Horatio narrowed his eyes at him. He'd dealt with that gang many times and it had cost him dearly. He'd lost both his wife and his brother to the wrath of those gangsters.

The rest of his team suddenly remembered the case they had been working on before they'd met the CSI from Las Vegas.

"One of the DBs we found at our crime scene today was a Mala Noche," Calleigh quickly explained.

"You wanna tell me what happened to your friend?" Frank asked, glaring at the man.

The gangster smirked a little, but said nothing.

"Take him in," the detective ordered, obviously frustrated with the man's behavior. "Maybe some time in a jail cell will get him talking."

* * *

Calleigh and Ryan sat in the layout room carefully studying what little evidence they had collected earlier. All the items were arranged neatly on the worktable: Cortez' broken watch, the numerous footprints Ryan had collected at the scene, and their victims' clothes and personal effects. Calleigh volunteered to analyze the footprints, leaving Ryan with their victims' things.

Eric was sitting at the computer, his face troubled as he studied the screen. He was reviewing the digital photographs they had taken at the pier.

Natalia looked over his shoulder at the screen. "Wait a minute...go back."

"What?" Eric came to the end of the pictures then immediately began scrolling back. "What is it?"

She had him stop at a wide photograph of the entire structure. "There!" She clicked and enlarged one of the farther railings. "Calleigh, come here. Take a look at this."

"What's up?" the blonde CSI said, coming up behind her.

"You see what I see?"

Calleigh studied the picture for a moment then suddenly noticed what the younger CSI had gotten so excited about. Right there, sitting just below the railing, was a tiny metallic object glinting in the sunlight. Because the crime scene was below the pier they hadn't really checked that area.

Her brow furrowed. "We missed something...I'm going back there."

Calleigh was out of the room before anyone could protest.

* * *

"Alexx?" Horatio stepped into the morgue and found the ME standing in front of an autopsy table staring at a male corpse, his insides completely exposed. She didn't seem to notice the lieutenant's entry.

"Is that the John Doe from my team's case?"

No response. The woman was clearly focused.

Horatio approached and finally noticed the troubled look on his friend's face. "What is it?"

"I was wrong," Alexx said without looking over. "This poor baby died of blunt force trauma. Hitting his head on the rocks is what killed him."

"But Calleigh told me that both victims were shot through the chest."

"They were, but—there's nothing."

Horatio stared at her, confused. She wasn't making any sense. "What do you mean nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Show me."

The ME complied and pointed, with gloved hands, at the man's chest. "The bullet entered here, between the seventh and eighth ribs. No break."

"That's unusual?"

"It happens sometimes. Depends on the entry angle."

She pointed to the area where the man's heart had been. "Missed the heart and lungs by a hair. There was some minor bleeding, but it was probably from the surface wound."

"Hmm…now that _is_ unusual."

She nodded in agreement, turning the body so they could see his back. "The bullet exited here, between the fifth and sixth vertebrae."

"No breaks in the spinal column?"

"No." Alexx put her hands on her hips and stared at the body. "Horatio, I've never seen anything like this. The bullet entered his torso in one of the only places it could have to miss all the internal organs and exit without so much as breaking a bone."

Horatio wasn't listening anymore. A long forgotten memory flashed in his mind. He knew of only one person who could make that shot. But that person had gone missing almost thirty years ago.

"Anything else, Alexx?" the lieutenant asked, hiding what he'd just remembered.

"There is one more thing." Alexx pointed to the tattoo on the back of the man's shoulder. "Do you know anything about this?"

Horatio cocked any eyebrow. "No, but I think I know someone who might."

* * *

Calleigh arrived at the familiar beach several minutes later and hopped out of the Hummer, field kit in hand. She headed toward the pier. It looked a little odd without all the usual beachgoers around. She made her way onto the structure looking out over the water, momentarily mesmerized by the crashing waves and the sun already beginning to set. She sighed contentedly and went back to work, heading straight for the far railing. She crouched down and found the object almost immediately. It was a necklace.

She pulled on a pair of gloves and carefully scooped up the silver chain for a closer look. The pendant hanging from the end had a figure she did not recognize carved into it. She was in the process of bagging the new evidence when something else caught her attention.

Her eyes moved down to the sand beneath the pier. Something was lying there, half-buried, the water spraying it every few seconds. Her eyes widened with recognition. It was a gun. No, not just a gun. _A rifle.

* * *

_

Horatio returned to the lab a few minutes later, a million thoughts running through his mind. There was something very wrong with this case. He knew who made that shot. But it just wasn't possible. The man had disappeared thirty years ago. And besides, he would never do something like this. The guy was a cop. A good cop. Why would—

A thought suddenly struck the lieutenant as odd. He couldn't remember the man's name. Why couldn't he remember his name?

As he walked toward his office, he spotted someone standing by the door, waiting. It was Grissom. Horatio mentally slapped himself. He'd completely forgotten about their visitor.

"Mr. Grissom, come in. What can I do for you?"

They stepped inside his office and Grissom looked up at him, obviously bothered by something.

"I didn't get to finish earlier," Grissom explained, pulling something out of his pocket. "There's something you need to see."

Horatio studied the familiar evidence bag in the man's hand. A small gun was inside. A .38.

"My guys found it at Catherine's house. Her kidnapper left it behind. It's one of the things that led us here."

"I don't understand."

"According to IBIS, this gun was used in a robbery a few months ago in South Beach. The case was unsolved. Do you remember that case?"

Horatio blinked. "Of course. But why are you telling me all this?"

"The weasel who kidnapped Catherine warned us that someone else would disappear in three days if we didn't give him what he wanted." Grissom looked the lieutenant straight in the eye. "I think one of your CSIs is in trouble."

The lieutenant's head suddenly shot up, alarmed.

"Who was the lead investigator in that case?"

Horatio's eyes widened. _No…_ He pulled out his cell phone and pressed the speed dial. The other line rang and rang, but there was no answer. He slipped the cell phone back into his belt clip and rushed out of the room.

"Lieutenant?" Grissom followed Horatio out the door. The man was clearly upset.

Horatio turned to face him, his eyes now hidden behind dark sunglasses.

"It's Calleigh."

* * *

**Uh oh…Calleigh's in trouble. Will they get to her in time? Review to find out…**


	4. Chapter 3

**Hey, look! Another chapter! Thanx 4 all the reviews! Keep 'em coming!**

**Spoilers: None

* * *

**

Calleigh quickly headed down to the underside of the pier, not noticing that her accompanying officer was nowhere to be found. She cast the beam of her flashlight through the dank, dimly lit area until she spotted it. It was still there, where she'd seen it. By the water. The owner had probably thrown it there after they had cleared the scene.

She walked to the rifle, photographed it, picked it up, and turned it in her gloved hands. It was an M40A3. A quick examination satisfied her that the mechanisms of the sniper rifle were in perfect working order. The only thing that bothered her was that there was no serial number and any prints had probably been washed away. She expertly disengaged the bolt and slid the magazine out. A single round was missing.

Suddenly, Calleigh froze. Someone was not far off--someone moving very softly. She quickly slid the cartridge back into the barrel, seated the bolt, and set the rifle down beside her kit. Her heart pounding, she slipped into the shadows and waited for the footsteps to come closer. Again, Calleigh thought she heard a noise and strained her ears to listen. She froze, her spine tingling. _There was someone behind her!

* * *

_

Horatio hurried down the hallways of the lab, making a beeline for the layout room.

Ryan was the first to notice him when he stepped into the room. He looked up from what he was doing and smiled. "Hey, what's up?"

When he didn't answer right away, everyone looked up at him. They all saw the worry etched on his features.

"H, what's wrong?" Eric asked as they watched him quickly glance around the room.

He didn't see her. His heartbeat quickened, the panic rising.

"Where's Calleigh?" Horatio questioned, his voice laced with urgency.

"She went back to the crime scene," Natalia answered. "Why?"

The lieutenant promptly left the room without another word. As Eric, Ryan, and Natalia exchanged confused glances the CSI supervisor from Las Vegas suddenly appeared in the doorway.

Grissom looked up at them, his voice edgy. "We think your friend might be in danger."

* * *

Calleigh held her breath. The footsteps ceased abruptly. Although she waited for half a minute, there was no further sound except for the ominous _drip, drip, drip_ of water falling from the beams above. Her better judgment told her not to allow herself to be trapped. She was reaching for her sidearm when an arm suddenly grasped her neck. She strained every muscle and tried to jerk free, but the arm was tight against her throat. She tried to call for help, but the attacker tightened his stranglehold on her. Choking, she felt herself being dragged backward, deep into the shadows.

* * *

Horatio arrived at the pier a few minutes later. He crammed the gearshift into park while the Hummer was still rolling. The large vehicle bucked and stopped. He burst out and tore down the beach, the rest of the gang on his heels. After Grissom had told them what was going on, they had all rushed out of the room and followed their boss.

"Calleigh!" the lieutenant shouted, heading for the pier at full sprint. Feet pounded around him. His team and several officers spread out searching for the blonde CSI.

Before Horatio even reached the structure, he could see there was no one up top. He immediately ran down below. He found her kit and some new evidence, but there was no sign of its owner. He gritted his teeth and whirled around. He yelled again, at the top of his lungs. "Calleigh!"

His voiced echoed back. The place was deserted. He pulled off his sunglasses and ran a hand through his hair. They were too late. Calleigh was gone.

"H, what do we do now?" Eric asked as he and the rest of the team came up behind him.

He started to answer when he suddenly noticed a lone figure in the corner of his eye, watching them from behind. _No, it couldn't be…_

He turned his head.

There was no one there.

Someone touched his shoulder. "H—?"

He turned around and found his team staring at him worriedly.

"You okay?" Eric asked, removing his hand from his boss' shoulder.

"I thought I saw…" He shook his head. "Nevermind."

They all gave him curious looks. He was hiding something, but they all knew better than to pry into someone else's business, especially his.

Horatio shifted his gazed toward the ocean, heat spreading down his neck. "Collect Calleigh's things and bring them back to the lab. We're going to find whoever did this." He slipped his sunglasses back on, making his way toward the Hummer. "I want this guy's head on a stick."

* * *

_Back in Vegas…_

Nick Stokes stared at the computer screen, drumming his fingers on the desk. While Grissom had gone off to Miami, he and the rest of the team continued to work the case on their end. At the moment, Warrick, Sara, and Greg were standing around the table in the middle of the room, comparing notes and studying case files for what seemed like the millionth time.

Nick yawned, shifting in his seat. None of them had had much sleep lately. They were all tired. But they simply refused to give up the search for their friend.

"C'mon, where did you come from?" he muttered, watching as the computer searched endlessly through the ballistics database.

For the last two days, he'd had that mysterious 9mm bullet they'd recovered at Catherine's house running through IBIS. But so far, no hits. And time was running out.

Sara heard him and turned, an eyebrow raised. "Are you _talking_ to the evidence?"

Nick glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled. She smiled back.

The computer suddenly began beeping. He whirled around and studied the screen. "I got it!"

"Let's just hope it's not contagious," Greg quipped as they walked over to him.

Nick rolled his eyes at the young CSI's joke then gestured toward the screen. "Finally got a hit on IBIS. This bullet is a match to several others that were recovered from a series of homicide cases, spanning over three years, from all across the country. Serial killer. The last attack was thirty years ago. Case was never solved. They never caught the guy."

He clicked on a link to bring them to another page. A warning message immediately popped up, searching for a password.

_Classified. Authorized personnel only._

Greg arched an eyebrow. "Well, that's weird."

"Nick?" Warrick suddenly noticed that his friend was still trying to open the file, but in a more unconventional way. He was trying to hack his way in. "What are you doing??"

"Little something Archie taught me."

"We could get in big trouble for this, man," Warrick said in a guarded voice. "If Gris finds out, he'll kill us. And I don't even wanna think about what Ecklie will do."

Nick wasn't listening anymore and was staring at the screen wide-eyed. He'd gotten in, but after seeing what he'd uncovered, he wished he hadn't.

Sara followed his gaze and gasped. "Oh my god…"

* * *

**Ooo…what did they find? And who did Horatio think he saw at the beach? If you wanna know, you gotta review! **


	5. Chapter 4

**Hey, ya'll! Here's another chapter! Sorry it took a while. I've been sick. Anyway, thanx 4 all the reviews! Very cool!**

**Spoilers: None

* * *

**

"Hello?" A voice called to her from the dark. "Miss?"

_Horatio?_

"Please…" Something was shaking her. "Please, wake up."

Calleigh slowly opened her eyes. They rolled about lazily for a moment, trying to focus on something, and finally, after a few blinks, she was able to clearly see her surroundings. A plain room. Smudged white walls. Natural light from a small, barred window. A dirty mattress to the right. A single fluorescent fixture above, a cold, concrete floor under her.

And the woman kneeling down beside her, watching her with big blue eyes filled with concern.

The woman's clothes were torn and looked as though they had been dragged through a field with her. Her tears left streaks down dirty cheeks. Her short, strawberry-blonde hair was a matted mess.

Calleigh blinked. She knew this woman.

She sat up, startled. "Catherine? Catherine Willows?"

Catherine stared at her, uneasy. "How do you know my name?"

"My name's Calleigh, Calleigh Duquesne. I'm a CSI from Miami."

A hint of recognition crossed the other CSI's face. "You work for Lt. Caine."

Calleigh nodded as she pulled herself up off the floor. "Your friend, Dr. Grissom, came looking for you."

"Really?" Catherine smiled at the thought. _He came all the way across the country for me._

"Yeah." The blonde CSI looked around the room again, assessing the situation.

Catherine followed Calleigh with her eyes as she went toward the window and glanced outside.

"You okay?" she asked, noticing that she was rubbing her neck.

"Huh?" Calleigh turned and suddenly realized what she had been doing. She pulled her hand away and stared at it, a memory of her kidnapping flashing through her mind. "Oh…yeah. I'm fine. Just a little sore." She turned back to the window and the world outside. Huge skyscrapers loomed in the distance. A bridge stretched out over a small body of water. _This isn't right…_

Calleigh spun around to face Catherine, her face troubled. "Where are we??"

* * *

Horatio paced back-and-forth in his office, anxiously. Calleigh had been kidnapped and so far, the only leads they had were the rifle and necklace she'd found. But there was something else, wasn't there? The CSI from Las Vegas. One of his CSI's had been kidnapped in a similar manner. Could the two abductions be connected somehow? Now that he thought about it, it certainly looked that way. Especially when he remembered the gun that Grissom had shown him. Whoever had taken Catherine had also been targeting Calleigh. Were there any other targets? He couldn't be sure, but he knew they had to find this guy fast before they had a chance to find out. The last thing they needed was another CSI disappearing.

He stopped pacing and glanced out the window at the distant waves crashing into the Miami shoreline. It was the last thing _he_ needed. He'd already seen too much death. Lost too many he cared for. First Tim, then Marisol, then Ray. Now, Calleigh. He glanced down at the street, watching officers and other people come and go from the building. No, he hadn't lost her, yet. She was still alive. Somewhere. He could still save her. He just needed to find her before—

A knock at his door brought him out of his thoughts. He turned around and found Grissom standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry about your CSI. Maybe if I had gotten to you sooner…"

Horatio held up his hand to silence him. "It's not your fault."

Grissom closed his eyes and tried to accept that. But he couldn't. Not completely. "Do you—do you think they're connected? Both Catherine and Ms. Duquesne getting kidnapped within days of each other?"

Horatio nodded. "I do."

* * *

The door suddenly swung open. A man with short-cropped, brown hair stepped into the room. Medium height. Fierce blue eyes. He went straight for Calleigh and grabbed her arm, roughly pulling her away from the window.

"Hey, let go of me!" She tried to resist, but he was squeezing her arm with enough force to hurt her.

"Leave her alone!" Catherine protested, running after him as he dragged Calleigh toward the door.

The man's free arm swung around and Catherine suddenly found herself staring down the barrel of a gun. "If you value your life, you better mind your own business!" he growled.

Catherine glared at him and bravely stood her ground.

"I said back off!"

She opened her mouth to retort, but the man didn't want to hear it. He stepped toward her and slammed the gun against the side of her head.

Blood oozed down her face. She sank to her knees, silent tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Move!" the man ordered, pushing a now terrified Calleigh out the door. "And you…" He scowled at Catherine as he shut the door. "I'll deal with _you_ later."

The door locked in place and Catherine found herself alone. She stared at the closed door, trembling, his words echoing through her mind. She was in deep trouble. _What have I gotten myself into?_

Half an hour later, a gunshot echoed through the entire building followed by a muffled scream.

"NO!" Catherine bolted out of her seat and ran to the door. She banged against it with her fists, angry hot tears streaming down her face. "No, no, no! You son of a…!"

* * *

Eric suddenly appeared behind Grissom. "H, you need to come to the A/V lab! Some guy hacked into Coop's computer! He's transmitting from a live webcam feed!"

Grissom's eyes snapped open, recognizing the MO. _It's him…_

"Whoa, Eric, slow down. What's going on?"

"He won't talk to anyone but you!"

"Who??"

The younger CSI's next words got the lieutenant's full attention. "He has Calleigh."

* * *

He dragged Calleigh down a dimly lit corridor and into a darkened room where the only piece of furniture was a single, metal chair in the middle of the room. A video camera stood on a tripod in the corner facing the chair. He propelled her toward the chair with enough force to knock her down. She hit the floor hard and lay there staring up at her captor, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

He stood there a moment, defying her to run. But the CSI knew better than that and remained where she was.

"Get up," he said.

Calleigh reluctantly obeyed. She was halfway up when he suddenly pushed her into the chair. She sat there glowering, forcing back the tears, holding her bruised arm.

"What are you going to do?"

"We're going to send your boss a little message," the man answered, pulling strands of rope from underneath the chair. He tied her to the chair, binding her ankles to the chair's legs and her wrists to the chair's arms. "If he doesn't do as I say, I'm going to kill you."

"He'll never do that!"

"He'll die for you. Or didn't you know that?"

The idea that Horatio would die for her caught Calleigh by surprise. "What? What are you talking about?"

"It doesn't matter. He's foolish enough to love you; he'll be foolish enough to die for you."

With that, he tied a gag around her mouth. Keeping her from saying another word.

"It's show time."

* * *

Both Horatio and Grissom followed Eric through the lab, running down the corridors, pushing past other lab techs and CSIs. They nearly ran over Alexx who had just come to see them to tell them that she'd recovered a bullet from one of the bodies. Eric almost crashed into Valera as they ran past the DNA lab.

When they finally reached the A/V lab, they found Cooper yelling at his computer—or more precisely, the person on the computer.

"I don't know who you think you are, but nobody—I mean _nobody_ hacks into my computer!"

"Mr. Cooper, what's going on?" Horatio asked, coming to stand behind him.

Cooper opened his mouth to answer, but the hacker interrupted him.

"Ah, Lt. Horatio Caine. How nice to see you again," the man said, smiling. He noticed Grissom standing in the background. "And Mr. Grissom, you deciphered my clues. Very good."

"Where's my CSI?" Horatio demanded, bringing the man's attention back to himself. "Where's Calleigh?"

The man wagged a finger at him. "_Tsk. Tsk. Tsk._ So many questions. Patience is a virtue. Besides, I think she's a little tied up at the moment."

The man moved off-screen and Horatio's eyes widened. Calleigh was strapped tightly to a chair, her mouth gagged. Her neck and one of her arms were bruised. And her wrists and ankles were all scratched up from the restraints.

Horatio found himself trying to keep his cool. "Let her go."

The man came to stand behind the chair, now holding a knife. He yanked Calleigh's head back by her hair and pressed the blade against her thin neck. "I don't think so. Not until you give me what I want."

Calleigh shook her head, her words lost in the gag.

"Shut up!" The man flicked his knife, and Calleigh gasped. Blood seeped from a thin cut on her chin.

"I am not giving you anything until you let my CSI go."

"Fine." The man threw the knife aside and pulled a gun from his back. He cocked it, pointing it at the blonde CSI's face.

Horatio felt the heat rise in his neck. "You kill her, and I promise you I'll blow your head off."

The man smiled a mean smile. Then without warning, he pressed the barrel against Calleigh's right thigh, and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot rang through the room. Calleigh arched her back, screamed through her gag, then dropped back against the chair sobbing.

Horatio's mind passed the threshold of whatever he'd used to control his emotions. He balled his fists, his knuckles turning white. He wanted so much to reach through the computer screen and strangle that scumbag. He took a deep breath, trying to gather himself, his gaze fixed on his friend.

Calleigh was sitting still. Obviously in pain. A single glance at her leg told him that the bullet did not pass completely through, which meant it had struck the femur, probably shattering it.

"I hope I have your attention," the man said, twirling the gun in his fingers. "Her leg will heal. A similar bullet to her head, on the other hand, will produce far more satisfying results. And you know, I'd love to kill her."

Horatio just stared at him, the rage swelling.

"Pity to destroy such a beautiful woman."

"Who are you?!" Grissom asked, no longer able to remain silent.

The man laughed. "You still don't remember me, do you, Gil? What about you, lieutenant? You remember me. Don't you, Red?"

Horatio's eyes widened. He recognized the nickname. Only one person had ever called him "Red."

"This is your last chance. You have forty-eight hours to give me what I want." He reached over to turn the camera off. "Or you and your friends will regret ever messing with me."

With that, his face vanished from the screen only to be replaced by two words typed in big, bold lettering.

_MORS DILECTI._

But no one was paying attention to the screen anymore, they were all staring at Horatio.

"Who was that guy?" Eric asked.

"His name is Pete. Pete Carlson," Horatio answered, his eyes downcast.

"Who's he?"

"I—" He looked up, his brow furrowed. "I don't remember…"

* * *

**Hmmm…what's going on with Grissom and Horatio? Why are they having such a hard time remembering this guy? And what does _Mors dilecti_ mean? **

**The answers to these and all your other questions are just a review away!**


	6. Chapter 5

**Hey, guys! I'm baaack! Sorry it took me sooo long to update…life got in the way. But I've made up for it. Here are _two_ chapters for your enjoyment! Thanx 4 all the reviews! Now, read on…**

**Spoilers: None

* * *

**

"_Bomb found in abandoned apartment building…two local officers and two out of state officers caught in the blast…"_

It was an old NYPD police report. Sara, Warrick, and Greg all crowded around the computer, reading along as Nick skimmed the key phrases.

_"Circumstances unclear…most of the evidence destroyed in fire…suspect the work of serial killer…Prometheus…"_

"How could anyone survive that?" Sara asked, studying the horrific photograph at the top of the document.

"I don't know…" Nick's voice trailed off when something in the picture caught his eye. He arched an eyebrow.

The old building stood in the center of the chaos, engulfed in flames. Its roof had already collapsed in on itself, destroying the upper floors. Red, hot flames shot out of the windows and doors below, making entry and exit difficult. Firemen surrounded the building, hoses spraying constant streams of water in an attempt to smother the fire. An ambulance was parked to one side, the EMTs helping the injured. Curious onlookers stood far off to the opposite side, safe from harm's way.

"But Grissom sure did."

Sara, Warrick, and Greg all gave him strange looks.

"Here…" He zoomed in on the ambulance and pointed at the person being led toward it at the time the picture was taken.

Sara's eyes widened. "Is that…?"

Though the enlargement wasn't very clear, the person looked a lot like their boss. Only younger and a few pounds lighter.

"Did anyone else notice the way Gris was acting before he left?" Nick posed.

"Yeah," Greg said, recalling the last time they'd seen their boss. "He did seem a little off."

Sara was incredulous. "Catherine's been kidnapped! What did you expect?"

"I know, I know. But I think it's more than that." Nick glanced back at the blurred image of their boss. "He knows something."

They all turned at the sudden movement behind them.

"Hey, where are you going?"

Warrick stepped out the door, a scowl on his face. "To find the truth."

* * *

_"You're far from home," a deep, accented voice said from behind him. "Excuse me?" Grissom turned to look at the man that had just sat down next to him. "How did you…?"_

"_Ya don't look like no city boy."_

"_That obvious, huh?"_

_The stranger smiled, taking a sip of his drink. "So, where ya from?"_

"_Vegas," Grissom answered, taking a swig of his own drink._

"_Ah, Sin City. So, what brings ya to the Big Apple?"_

_Grissom hesitated, unsure if he should tell this man anything. But then again, this guy could be helpful. He seemed harmless and knew the city quite well. "I'm working on a case."_

_The man looked him over. "Ya some kinda cop or something?"_

"_CSI, actually."_

"_Really?" The man grinned. "Well, then you're in good company, my friend. I'm a detective." He held out his hand, properly introducing himself. "Pete Carlson, New Jersey PD."_

A gentle tap on his shoulder brought him back to the present. Grissom turned and found everyone staring at him.

"You okay, Dr. Grissom?" Horatio asked.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine," Grissom lied, giving him a reassuring smile. "It's nothing."

The lieutenant stared at him skeptically. The man was hiding something. But before he could push further, the lab tech spoke up.

"Uh, guys?" Cooper gestured toward his computer. "What is this?"

Everyone looked past him at the screen.

Eric arched an eyebrow, reading the message the man had left behind. "_Mors dilecti_?"

"It's Latin, Eric," Horatio explained. "It means the body of a crime…or the evidence that a crime has been committed."

"What crime? What evidence?"

Grissom thought for a moment, remembering something an old friend had taught him. "The body of evidence always begins with the body _as_ evidence."

A look of realization crossed the lieutenant's face and he pulled out his cell phone, hitting the speed dial.

"Alexx, do you still have that John Doe from Calleigh and Eric's case…?

* * *

Calleigh lay on the mattress, staring blankly up at the ceiling. She'd been returned to her prison only to be exchanged for the other CSI. She had watched helplessly as the man dragged a frightened Catherine away to do who-knows-what to her. It was her punishment for standing up to him. She glanced down at her right leg. Her bullet wound was now wrapped in a thick, white bandage. The guy definitely wanted them alive. But for how long?

She decided to test her leg. She sat up and tried to push herself off the bed. "Oww!" With a shriek of agony, she fell back onto the cold mattress, grabbing her thigh, grimacing. The pain flashed through her entire leg, red-hot and lingering. The bullet had caused too much damage. She wouldn't be walking any time soon much less running.

The door suddenly swung open and a blur of strawberry-blonde was pushed into the room.

"That oughtta teach you," the man smirked, slamming the door shut.

"Catherine!"

* * *

Alexx watched curiously as Horatio and Grissom stared down at the dark-haired young man lying in one of her drawers. When Grissom got a good look at the John Doe's face, his own face paled. He backed away, so troubled he couldn't hide it.

The lieutenant caught the ME's eye, but his face was hard to discern.

He spoke quietly, his eyes fixed on the corpse's face. "This man bears a striking resemblance to someone I used to know…"

_10 seconds…_

"_C'mon, we gotta out of here!" Horatio said, ready to run out the door._

"_You go ahead!" the other man answered, still trying to disarm the bomb. "Get out of here!" _

_Horatio stared at him like he was crazy. But he couldn't just leave him. "No, I'm not going anywhere!"_

_5 seconds…_

"_Uh oh…"_

"_What's wrong?"_

"_There are two toggle switches…I'm not sure which one will shut it off! Red or blue?"_

"_Just pick one! And hurry!"_

_3 seconds…_

_Making a split-second decision, he flipped the blue switch. Both men instinctively covered their faces, anticipating an explosion. But there was nothing. They both cautiously glanced down at the timer's bright LCD display. _

_3 seconds. _

_The timer had stopped counting down. They each breathed a sigh of relief. But the feeling was short-lived. One horrifying moment later, with a click and a beep, the timer suddenly sprang back to life, resuming the countdown. A string of curses escaped their mouths._

_2 seconds…_

"_RUN!!!"_

"Horatio?" He looked up and found Alexx staring at him worriedly.

His professional demeanor weakened as fear crept into his eyes. Alexx wondered what it meant. But before she could ask, his cell phone chirped loudly from his pocket.

Horatio quickly blinked the expression away and answered the phone. "Caine…Yes, thank you…I'll be right there…"

Without looking once at Grissom and Alexx, the lieutenant swept out of the room.

* * *

Calleigh pushed herself back up into a sitting position. Catherine refused to meet her gaze and just stood there, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders shaking. She was crying. Calleigh studied her trembling form and what she saw made her sick. Catherine's clothes were ripped worse than before. Her arms and what she could see of her face were covered with fresh cuts and bruises.

"Hey..."

Catherine didn't respond and wandered over to the other side of the room, gazing out the window.

"I'm sorry," Calleigh said. "I know how you feel—"

"You have no clue how I feel!" Catherine said, spinning around to face her. She thrust her arm at the door she'd been practically thrown through. "Do you have any idea what I've been through?"

"Well, I…"

Catherine stared at her, searching her eyes. Then her face softened, and she looked away. "I'm sorry."

Calleigh was suddenly eager to comfort her. Her need came from hours of raw nerves. It came from the dark halls and sickness of that place. It came from the image of her new friend lying in that man's bed.

It came from being trapped in that psycho's game.

They were two lost souls who had escaped death together only to believe that they would still probably die before the game was through. Calleigh, the intelligent gun-slinging southern belle from Miami, and Catherine, the beautiful redhead from Las Vegas who had tried to help her.

Now both lost again. And alone in that dark, musty old room while the building creaked ominously around them.

* * *

Kenwall Duquesne downed his tenth shot of whiskey as he had done so time and time again that afternoon at his favorite bar, The Whiskey Stop. Swallowing it slowly, trying to drink his pain away.

Normally, by the fifth shot he'd be completely drunk. Even in the distracted fog of his anger, the drink would numb his mind, making him forget all his problems. At least, temporarily. However, this afternoon the tears that streamed from his eyes without warning, the anger that buzzed through his mind, combined to increase his tolerance to the alcohol. No matter how much he drank, he could not get drunk enough to get his missing daughter off his mind.

Yet, he didn't seem to care. The slow relaxation of his muscles that he felt with each sip seemed as natural yet as uncontrolled as his tears.

"Mr. Duquesne?" It was Horatio.

"Go away. Please."

The lieutenant ignored him and quietly sat down beside the disgruntled lawyer. "How you doing?"

Duke didn't answer because he didn't want to lie. He only continued drinking.

Horatio grabbed his glass and held it down against the counter firmly. "I said, how you doing?"

It felt like an interrogation. Horatio pushed into Duke's space big time, and Duke didn't like it. He met the lieutenant's gaze deliberately, angrily. "With all due respect, lieutenant, that's a stupid question."

"I can only imagine how you must be feeling right now."

Duke slammed his fist down on the counter and faced the lieutenant with a wild-eyed stare. "How could you let my baby get kidnapped by some psycho who won't even show his face?!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Duquesne." Horatio didn't get ruffled. He'd been a cop—and known Calleigh's father—too long for that. "My team and I are doing everything we can to find her. We want Calleigh back as much as you do. Please, believe me."

Duke gave some thought to his attitude and tried to ease down. "I'm sorry. It's just—I can't help but think of the last thing I said to her. She was trying to tell me something important, and I just threw it in her face."

Horatio was listening.

"I wish I could…If there was—" His eyes teared up again. He looked away to clear them, to clear his mind. "If there was just some way…I—I'd give anything if…I could just…"

"Duke, look at me."

Duke met his eyes. The gaze coming from those pale blue eyes was kind but would not be trifled with.

"She loves you and you love her. That's all that matters."

"I know. But you know the score here. I don't have to tell you the chances of finding her. Much less alive."

"Yes, but I have always been one to beat the odds. And I won't rest until she's found. Alive." Horatio slipped his sunglasses on and turned to leave. "I give you my word."

As Duke watched the lieutenant's retreating figure disappear out the door, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. _He really does care about her, doesn't he?

* * *

_

One step and her leg punished her. Calleigh winced in pain, nearly fell, then recovered her balance. She leaned against the wall and took a moment to gather herself. As she stood there, her gaze fell on the strawberry-blonde CSI who had sank down against the wall beneath the window, sobbing. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and her head was buried in arms.

Calleigh reached for the long pipe she had spotted lying on the ground and leaned against it, transferring her body weight off her injured leg. Once she was sure it would support her weight, she carefully pulled away from the wall. Using the pipe as a cane, she slowly hobbled over toward Catherine and gingerly sat down next to her.

She put a gentle hand on Catherine's shoulder and let her own tears fall, sharing in her sorrow.

_Horatio, where are you?_


	7. Tuesday Afternoon

He glances at his watch, counting off the seconds. They have some pretty good minds on their side, but none quite like his. He's been planning this for years, not because he needed the time, but because he's been waiting for the right timing. Then again, the wait has given him more than enough opportunity to learn what he needs to know. Their every waking move. Their motivations and desires. Their strengths…and their weaknesses.

Electronic surveillance—he just loves technology! He can put a laser beam on a window at a great distance and pick up any voices inside the room. They'll probably find his bugs eventually, but he doesn't really care. He can still talk to them any moment of the day on his laptop without being detected.

He looks down at his watch again. _Tick-tock…_

In a few days, those pathetic CSIs will feel the sting of his vengeance, and the women…

He chuckles.

There is no way they can possibly win.

Time's up.

He walks across the room to an old metal desk lit by a single, dim lamp. A policeman's hat sits on the desk. He reminds himself to put it away. He's not going to need it…yet.

He's made a few adjustments to the black cell phone to prevent tracing. The cops can trace all they like. He is invisible.

_Burn, baby, burn…_

He picks up the phone and dials. A deep, raspy voice answers immediately.

"It's done."

* * *

"Hey, guys!" Cooper suddenly burst into the room. "I think I might have figured out where that guy was transmitting from!"

All heads turned to face him. "Where???"

"An old warehouse a few blocks away from the crime scene."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

They all stood to leave, but Frank stopped them in their tracks.

"Guys, you're not gonna like this," he explained, putting his phone away. "Someone just turned that warehouse into a pile of ashes."

* * *

By the time they had arrived at the scene, the firefighters had the flames almost all put out. They all stared at the building—or at least, what was left of it—in horror. The roof and several of the walls had collapsed exposing the frame, blackened by the fire, barely standing. Water dripped off the rickety husk. No one could survive that.

"Oh, lieutenant," the fire chief was saying. "my guys found something in there I think you should see."

"Hmm?"

He called one of his men over, a tall, lanky fellow. "Myers, show them what you found."

"Yes, sir."

The group promptly followed the young firefighter into the burnt building. He led them through a path they had created in the debris until they reached a metal table sitting in the middle of the mess. Its matching chairs lay around it, melted and misshapen, almost looking like some form of modern art.

The fireman pointed at the table. Lying there was a scorched ID card and a melted badge.

Horatio and his team immediately recognized the badge. All their faces twisted with anger and resentment. Grissom's eyes fell on the ID card. Every eye focused on him, awaiting a verdict.

His voice quavered, though he tried to control it. "It's hers."

Another fireman came up behind the group and began to speak to Myers.

"Found where the fire originated. Back room. From the fragments we found, looks like some kind of firebomb."

Both Horatio and Grissom suddenly became alert. They both turned their heads slightly to eavesdrop, straining their ears to hear every word.

"Looks like we've got ourselves an arsonist."

Horatio froze, fragments of a memory flashing in his mind...

_Air. He desperately needed clean air._

_Clouds of smoke billowed all around him._

_It was hard to breathe._

_He slowly lifted his head, searching the debris. Someone groaned to his right. Someone coughed behind him. He blinked, his vision fogging over._

_Then he heard the sirens…_

* * *

"May I help you?" the receptionist asked politely, looking over the group of four that had just walked up to the front desk.

"Yeah," Warrick answered, taking charge. He flashed his ID. "We're from the Las Vegas Crime Lab and we're looking for our supervisor, Dr. Gil Grissom. He came down here a couple of days ago."

"Oh, you must mean that nice looking fellow that's been hanging around. He's gotten pretty friendly with Lt. Caine's team."

"Do you know where we might find them?" Nick asked.

"They're gone."

They all stared at the receptionist, unsure of what they'd just heard. "What?"

"They're not here. Lt. Caine and his team, along with Dr. Grissom, are all out on the field. Arson scene."

"Hey, that must've been that fire we saw on the way over here," Greg said, as relief washed over all their faces.

"Would you like me to contact the lieutenant? Let him know you're here?"

Nick shook his head, smiling. "Oh, no, that's okay. Thanks for your help."

"No problem."

* * *

"Hey!"

The second the firefighter spotted him he made a mad dash toward a shattered window and jumped out into the back alley.

The fireman tapped his radio. "Chief, we got a suspect on the run. Just headed out back. Should be heading your way."

"Copy that."

Sure enough, a moment later the suspect came running out of the alley at top speed. Not wanting to be cornered, he made for the building next door, hopping up onto the fire escape and steadily making his way toward the roof.

"Stop him!" the chief yelled.

While all of this was happening, no one noticed four strangers arrive at the scene. They all saw what was going on and immediately went to help. Two of them went up the fire escape while one found another way to get to the roof in hopes of cutting the guy off. And one stayed behind on the ground as a look out and also to explain to the chief who they were and what they were doing there.

Pretty sure of himself that he was going to get away, the man pulled himself up onto the roof and glanced down at the two people far below trying to make their way up to him. He smirked and turned to make his get-away when someone came up behind him and hit him around the head, knocking him out cold.

"Nice one, Rick!" Nick said as he and Greg joined their friend on the roof.

Warrick grinned triumphantly. "When will these guys learn? You can't run from the law!"

* * *

"What's going on out here?" Horatio asked, coming outside to see what all the commotion was about.

"Caught this guy running from the scene," Frank answered, gesturing toward the scowling man being stuffed into a police car.

"Nice work."

"Don't thank me." The detective shook his head and pointed at a group of four people heading toward them. "Thank them."

"Who are they?" the lieutenant asked, arching an eyebrow.

"They're from the Las Vegas Crime Lab. They're looking for Dr. Grissom."

Horatio immediately went back into the building to fetch Grissom.

"What's going on?" the older man asked, as he followed the lieutenant outside.

"Friends of yours?" Horatio asked as the quartet came into view.

Grissom's eyes widened at the sight of his team and a huge smile spread across his face as he went to greet to them.

"What are you guys doing here?"

"What, we can't come and help out our boss?"

"It's good to see you, too, Greg." Grissom suddenly remembered the man standing nearby, waiting patiently to be introduced. "Oh, I'm sorry. Horatio, I'd like you to meet the rest of my team…" He gestured toward each one in turn. "You remember Warrick Brown…and this is Nick Stokes, Sara Sidle, and Greg Sanders, the youngest and newest member of the team."

"Hey, you're a newbie too, huh?" Natalia said as she and the rest of the Miami team walked out of the building to join them. "So am I." She extended her hand. "Natalia Boa Vista."

Greg shook her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Horatio smiled. "I think you two will find that you have much more in common."

"What do you mean?" Natalia asked.

"According to Dr. Grissom, Sanders used to be a lab rat before becoming a CSI."

"Yeah," Greg nodded. "I used to work DNA."

Natalia's eyes brightened. "So did I!"

"Really?"

* * *

They all arrived back at the Miami Crime Lab about an hour later. Horatio went straight to his office to grab a few things then took off for the police department. He was looking forward to interrogating their new suspect.

Even before the lieutenant arrived, Frank had already begun the interrogation but seemed to be getting nowhere. The detective slipped two evidence bags toward the man now identified as Charlie Wells.

"You did this...didn't you?" Frank asked, gesturing at the contents of the bags—the burnt badge and the ID.

The man glanced at them, arching an eyebrow, then turned away without an answer.

"You can't keep quiet forever."

Wells smirked a little, but remained silent, crossing his arms over his chest.

Frank glared at him, frustrated by his silence. Wells seemed amused, as if he enjoyed upsetting this stranger in front of him. It took all of the detective's self-control to keep from grabbing him by the collar and forcing the answers out of him.

"You better start talking, or I swear..."

Wells' head suddenly turned, and he sat straight up, staring past the detective out into the hallway. Frank followed his gaze and found Horatio walking toward their interrogation room, walking with a firm and purposeful tread, more determined than ever to get answers. Wells stiffened in his seat as the lieutenant approached.

"Mr. Wells," Horatio said, walking into the room.

Wells looked up at him, grinning, then leaned back in his seat with an almost haughty air of confidence.

"Hello, lieutenant."

Horatio approached the table, towering over him. "Where is she?"

"Who?" Wells smiled.

"Do not play dumb with me, Mr. Wells," Horatio said, leaning over the table and invading Wells' personal space. "You don't need to. You kidnapped one of my CSIs. Now, where is she?"

Wells laughed. "You can question me all you want, but I'll never tell you where they are."

Horatio glared at him, his anger boiling.

He suddenly grabbed a fistful of Wells' hair and slammed his head down on the table. The sound of Wells' skull smacking into the metal made everyone in the vicinity jump.

"Tell me where she is, you son of a—" Horatio growled in Wells' ear as the man struggled and winced, his face red as a tomato.

The man snickered into the tabletop. "Temper, temper…"

As Frank watched, his heart pounding, Horatio yanked Wells out of the table and propelled him back into his seat. He didn't wait for Wells to sit; he _put_ him there.

"_Where is she?_"

Wells looked him square in the eye and laughed. "Over. My. Dead. Body."

"That can be arranged." Without thinking, Horatio slid his gun out of its holster. Feeling his willpower drain, he aimed his weapon toward the target he could not resist. He zeroed in on Wells' head.

* * *

Meanwhile, the team went to work examining the fragments of the firebomb, which the fire department sent over after they had finished at the scene. A few of Grissom's team hung around to help out while the others went to grab a bite to eat.

"This is incredible," Eric muttered as he took a closer look at one of the bomb fragments.

Ryan nodded in agreement, examining a melted digital timer. "It's ingenious."

"I mean, take a look at this…" Eric held up different pieces as he spoke. "This bomb's got fail-safes: a motion detector that will set the bomb off at the slightest movement…and a magnet that will complete a second circuit should the primary be disabled."

"And guess what the accelerant is…" Natalia said, pulling a paper from the GCMS. "…thermite."

Ryan frowned. "No wonder the fire burned so hot."

* * *

"Horatio!" Frank stared at him in disbelief.

Wells threw his hands in the air, but a sly smile was still pasted on his face. "Go ahead."

He cocked the gun.

"Shoot me," the man sneered.

He fingered the trigger. With just a squeeze of his fingers a bullet would streak across the space between them and through Wells' black heart…

"Be a man," Wells taunted.

"Horatio..." Frank warned. "He's not worth it."

Horatio felt his trigger finger trembling, but then he swung the gun down and put it away. He couldn't take another man's life. He'd already seen too much death.

"Not a man like you." He backed away and had an officer escort Wells back to his cell.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Frank turned to face Horatio, his anger boiling. "What the heck do you think you're doing!?"

Horatio looked at him, seemingly unphased by all that had happened.

"What I had to."

* * *

"This guy's good," Sara said, glancing through their crime scene photos. She couldn't help but notice how the photograph of the burnt warehouse looked almost identical to the one they'd seen in that old NYPD police report. "…really good."

"Yeah…" Warrick's gaze shifted into the hallway where their boss was talking to someone. All this talk about an arsonist had reminded all the Vegas CSIs why they had come to Miami in the first place.

Eric shook his head in wonderment, still sifting through the pieces. "I've never seen anything like this…"

"_I have_."

* * *

**So, whaddaya think, guys? Long chapters, I know…but plenty of action and suspense. Wondering who said that last line? Review to find out! **


	8. Chapter 7

**Hey ya'll, here's another chapter for your reading pleasure! Thanx 4 all the reviews! They're music to my ears—er—eyes….Whatever. Enjoy!**

**Spoilers: None

* * *

**

_How much explosive did it take to blow a building this size? He was staring at the answer. Black wires protruded from a silver shoebox and met in a contraption that looked like the inside of a transistor radio. A bomb._

"_Guys!" he yelled. He twisted for the door and yelled again, at the top of his lungs. "Guys!"_

_He heard the hurried footsteps of his friends climbing up the stairs. He ran his hands through his hair. He had to stop it! But how? He reached for the wires, paused, and pulled back._

_Pulling the wires would probably set it off, wouldn't it?_

"_Mac!" A scream carried down the hallway._

"_Guys!" he yelled. "The bomb's in here!"_

_Two of them ran past him to inspect the device while one lingered by the doorway, face white._

"_What are you doing?" Mac snapped, watching as one of the men began fiddling with the bomb. "It could go early. You'll get us all killed!"_

_Just when they though he'd had it figured out, the man suddenly froze, eyes wide, staring at the timer._

"_RUN!!!"_

_He'd just made it out the door when someone grabbed him by the waist and pulled him down. They landed together and rolled just as there was a loud, sharp blast and the crash of shattering glass. The ground shook._

_He lay motionless for a few long seconds. Then he pushed himself up as far as he could and looked back. His legs were pinned beneath a steel beam. All that was left in the room was a heap of smoking rubble. And whoever had pulled him to safety was nowhere to be found._

_Still breathing hard, Mac dropped back down and buried his face in the ash-covered floor.

* * *

_

"Prometheus…"

"Excuse me?"

The detective blinked, pulling himself from his thoughts, and turned to find five curious faces staring at him.

"Who's Pro—"

"Mac," a familiar voice greeted from behind. "You got my message."

"Yes, I did." The detective turned, smiling at his old friend. "Ah, Lt. Caine…we've gotta stop meeting like this."

"I think you remember my team…" The lieutenant gestured into the layout room where the others were watching the exchange between the two supervisors curiously.

Smiles broke out on their faces as they greeted him with a shake of a hand or a quick hug. The detective's eyes were then drawn toward the two people who hadn't greeted him and just stood off to the side, looking a bit awkward.

"I don't believe we've met…"

"Warrick Brown," the tall, black man said, coming forward to shake his hand.

The pretty brunette followed suit, introducing herself as well.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Sidle, Mr. Brown," Mac said, introducing himself. "I'm Det. Mac Taylor. NYPD. Where are you guys from?"

"They're with me," Grissom answered, appearing next to the lieutenant. "I'm Dr. Gil Grissom. Las Vegas Crime Lab. They're part of my team."

"Nice to meet you." Mac shook his hand, politely. "So…" His business-like smile melted into a frown, his next sentence directed more toward his fellow supervisors than everyone else. "What exactly has been going on around here?"

Horatio and Grissom exchanged glances before the lieutenant responded. "First, there's something I'd like you to see, Mac. I'll explain everything on the way."

* * *

The CSIs from Vegas had never worked with the detective from New York before, but according to Lt. Caine the man had a pretty good reputation. He'd left the Marine Corps for life in the big city, but everyone knew that he could still run circles around any of the big dogs in the city.

"His name's Angel," Mac said, laying pictures of their John Doe on the table. "Angel Giovanni. He was a Tanglewood boy…but believe me, he was no angel."

"Tanglewood?" Ryan asked, eyeing the photo of the tattoo on the back of Angel's shoulder.

Mac looked up at the young CSI. "Gang back home. Pretty nasty guys. Dealt with them a lot. We arrested their leader about a year ago. He's rotting in prison for the rest of his life."

"So what does that have to do with Calleigh's abduction?" Eric asked.

"And Catherine's," Grissom added.

Mac eyed them, brows arched. "There's more than one possible explanation for these kidnappings. You have to ask yourselves why he chose _them_ and not anyone else. The _why_ is what it's all about, not the whats and hows and whens and wheres. The whys."

"The whys," Horatio said. "I've heard that."

"Like why he got those two gangsters involved if Ms. Duquesne was the intended target."

"Yeah," Eric agreed. "A lotta trouble for someone just after Calleigh."

"Then again, revenge can send even the most reasonable criminal around the bend."

They all nodded. Inside, though, the younger CSIs wondered what he meant by that. It seemed only their supervisors understood.

Mac's eyes were suddenly drawn to an evidence bag sitting off to the side. His eyes widened.

"Where did you get that?"

They all followed his gaze toward the necklace that Calleigh had found before she'd been taken.

"Found it at the crime scene," Natalia answered. "Why? What's up?"

He snatched the bag up from the table and took a closer look just to be sure. His heartbeat quickened. "This belongs to one of my CSIs. She lost it a few days ago." He met Horatio's gaze, his voice knotted with fear. "Horatio, this belongs to Stella."

* * *

He stood over the dead body, staring at his reflection in a broken mirror, and tried to calm the tremble in his hands. It was payback time, and before this was all over, they would all know just how painful revenge could be._An eye for an eye…_

He'd already kidnapped two CSIs and left several clues in his wake before walking away, setting his eyes on his next target. Little did they know that he'd killed again since shooting those two gangsters. The beginning of the end.

He turned his attention to the brightly lit monitor on the desk. He'd hidden a camera in the room to keep an eye on his two hostages. He'd been watching them carefully ever since the game had started. The two female CSIs were now sitting on the mattress, talking. Just talking. No doubt planning some means of escape. They were so stupid, these women. They could _never_ leave. He adjusted the policeman's hat that sat slightly askew on his head and glanced down. The cop he'd killed lay prone at his feet.

Outside, the rain came down. He loved the rain. It washed away all the evidence.

* * *

Mac spent the next couple of hours contacting his friends back in New York to make sure everyone on his team was still accounted for. They were all safe…for now. He told them to keep an extra careful eye out for anything suspicious and to watch each other's backs now more than ever. Especially Stella's. If the kidnapper kept to his pattern, she was in more danger than anyone. And though he knew she'd never approve, to ease his mind, he had a couple of officers station themselves outside Stella's apartment building. Protecting her, without her knowledge.

"Okay, they're safe for now," he said, putting his phone away. "What's that?"

Horatio had brought him into the A/V lab to show him the kidnapper's video. Maybe find something they could use to track him down or at the least figure out what he was up to. Cooper was just calling up the video now. The man's shadow filled the screen and the distorted voice streamed from the speakers.

When he didn't get an immediate response, Mac looked over at the lieutenant who was standing behind the lab tech's chair. Horatio's gaze seemed distant. He was off in his own world, his fingers fidgeting with the pair of sunglasses in his hands.

* * *

_"Nothing connects…"_

"_Not for us," Horatio said, glancing at the map with red dots marking the recent fires. "But I guarantee you it connects for him. We need a psychological profile, Pete."_

_Pete shook his head. "We need facts. Leads. This man has been setting fires for a long time. He's too careful. Too smooth to be an amateur. And he's escalating. There were fatalities in the last two fires."_

_Horatio arched an eyebrow. "So what does that tell us?"_

"_You know as well as I do, pros like to think of themselves as artists. They leave their signatures." He studied the map more carefully, calculating. " And I think I've seen this man's signature before. But we're not gonna know anything until we nail down what flammables he's using. And that's going to happen with good, hard detective work."_

"_Rather than a lot of psycho-babble," Horatio said dryly. " Look, if we find out what's driving him, we can get into his head and—"_

_Pete rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Red…"_

_Someone cleared his throat behind them. "Am I interrupting anything?"_

"_No, not at all…

* * *

_

Mac suddenly swore loudly snapping the lieutenant out of his momentary daydream.

"What's wrong?"

Mac was staring at the computer screen, eyes wide. He scolded himself. "Idiot!"

"Who?" Horatio was at his side and followed his gaze.

"Me." He'd had Cooper pause the video and zoom in on something in the background. There, on a desk in the corner of the room, was a dark-colored policeman's hat. An NYPD standard issue policeman's hat. "I have to go back."

Mac pulled out his cell phone and rushed out of the room. The phone began to ring. He answered it. He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and the lieutenant almost ran into him.

"Mac—?" Horatio just about asked.

The detective's face turned white.

"I led him right to her."

* * *

He reached down with a gloved hand and grabbed the officer by his hair, then dragged him along the hall to the back door. No blood, because he'd killed the man by snapping his neck. There would be plenty of blood later. Patience was the one virtue he recognized, despite knowing he actually had very little patience.

He opened the back door and swung the man onto his shoulder so as not to leave marks in the mud. He walked over a trail of garbage toward an empty drum, and in this drum he stuffed the officer before securing the lid tightly. When the body started to decompose, its smell should stay contained until the drum was opened.

He went back inside and picked up his cell phone. He called the number he'd stolen from the receptionist's desk the day before.

A voice, obviously on edge, answered after only a couple of rings. "Taylor."

"Hello, Mac. It's payback time."

The line was silent.

He hung up and walked out into the rain without bothering to close the door. He would kill once more after he dealt with the detective's weakness. Stella Bonasera.

Sweet, tender Stella.

* * *

**Oh no…Stella's in trouble! What will happen next? Review to find out…and follow me to New York for the final chapter of the "Triple" trilogy: Triple Team.**

**See you in the "Big Apple!"**


	9. Author's Note

**Hey, yall! The final chapter of this three part series, "Triple Team," is now up!**

**Sorry it took me so long to post it. I got a new job and I've been working ten hours a day, six days a week. I haven't had much time to write and I've been sooo tired.**

**Anyway, go on over to the CSI: NY area and check it out!**

**Have fun:) **


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